


The Corner of West and Second

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kahlan is a powerful woman with a weakness and a stroke of luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Corner of West and Second

**Author's Note:**

> An attempt at something neo-noir…ish. Warning -- this story contains stripping and prostitution.

Rain pours out of a black sky onto the street like it’s trying to wash the city clean all by itself. Down the sides of buildings, streaming over dull concrete and sliding down glass, it falls to build and gush through curbs until it’s swallowed by loud, hungry storm drains. Kahlan steps over one, nearly getting her heels wet as she exits the sleek limousine. She knows her city is far too dirty to be cleansed by one thunderstorm.

The wide umbrella held over her head by the massive man to her right keeps her dry, out of the influence. He makes sure not a drop darkens her clothes and in turn, she looks directly at him, a passing glance to acknowledge his existence. He looks away, as most of them do. They’re all scared of her.

It’s in a bad part of town, this place. Neon signs flicker over low-slung awnings, each trying to call attention to their own version of sin in three words or less. She heads straight for one of a few that proclaim “Live Girls” in garish pink. The limo rolls away quietly behind her; her driver knows what to do and so do the two hulking men with her. It’s Thursday night, the time she sets aside for herself. For her weaknesses, if she’s honest with herself—and she always is.

Lightning flashes to light up the clouds, thunder cracks and rolls, and after a cover and tip to the doorman she enters a small corner of the sprawling underbelly of her world. It’s crowded, dimly lit with red like a special version of hell, just for her. The air is thick with pounding music and the smell of desire, a fast-paced beat assaulting her as she threads through filled tables to the one reserved for her.

It’s a prime spot, right in front of the stage. She sits with one of her men, the other having stayed near the doorway for a wider view. There’s probably someone in this very room whom she’d put behind bars, for life or more, only to have them wriggle their way out through some way or another. Nothing is forever here except a desire for vengeance.

Drink ordered from the scantily clad waitress, Kahlan relaxes back, folding her arms across her blazer and crossing her legs in her long skirt. She lets her eyes take in the ample skin on display before her but she finds nothing she likes there, and the dancer after her doesn’t fit her type either. It’s been a hard week and Kahlan’s thoughts begin to wander as she tips back a vodka tonic. She stares unseeing at the silver pole connecting stage to ceiling, at pale skin and bare breasts and the smallest thong the world has ever seen, and all she sees is the gleeful eyes of that bastard named Giller who walked out of the room a free man, fucking up her conviction rate in the process. That was a bought jury if she’s ever seen one, and they probably had the judge in their pocket too.

Her case was solid. She isn’t the top prosecutor in the city, the favorite at her lofty but incessantly thankful law firm, for no reason. Aydindril National treats her like royalty; she doesn’t know any other lawyers with the protection she’s grown so used to. Then again, no others are willing to take on the deep-rooted crime gods of the east side like she is.

Giller is just a lackey, an errand boy, for a powerful shadow of a man that goes by Rahl. The latter has evaded the courts for his entire life of bloodshed, but now Kahlan almost has him. A simple and unlucky traffic violation gets him in the room where, under the watchful eyes of the only judge in the city she trusts, Kahlan is going to try him for nearly every law in the books. She just needs one thing to win for sure, to keep him from slipping through her fingers.

Well, one thing and a little more research. But instead of digging around in old police reports she’s here, sinking that much deeper into everything she’s supposed to hate. People around her are making illicit deals, recounting stories, selling and buying things of a certain nature, and it’s all one loud hum to Kahlan. So she stares at girl after girl, succeeding very well in not thinking about it.

But then the music changes and _she_ comes out, right on time, all skintight red leather and confidence. This girl doesn’t dance so much as move in a way that screams sex, no matter how subtle. Kahlan swallows as the song morphs to something heavier, something dangerous, the slow and staggered thudding pricking at her body and making her skin crawl. The blonde works the pole like she knows she’s Kahlan’s favorite, like she knows she’s watching. Bit by bit, leather is peeled away to reveal tanned skin, nearly glowing under dim light, and toned muscle. Kahlan watches, completely mesmerized by her sinuous motions, by the soft curve of her back. The woman knows how to tease, and Kahlan soon finds herself biting her lip in frustration at the tight, narrow strip of black fabric over her breasts.

There’s a catcall from the left and Kahlan’s eyes dart there, sharply. This is supposed to be a fairly classy place as far as strip joints go, safe from the kind of man who spends his last dollar on cheep beer and a look. The woman on stage just smirks and reaches behind her back, turning away coyly as she pulls the strip free. Kahlan reminds herself that she is an adult, that she shouldn’t be worked up over bare breasts like a teenaged boy. But it’s too late for that. There’s the slightest sheen on the center of her chest when she drops her arm and the sight of it hits Kahlan straight in the groin—she wants to lick that sweat right off her skin.

Too soon, the blonde bends over in a mock bow, whipping shoulder-length hair back when she straightens, smiling with one side of her mouth like her audience doesn’t deserve both. Then she’s gone from the stage, hips swaying, leaving Kahlan nearly squirming in her seat. Ten minutes ago she was thinking of cases and now she’s so turned on she couldn’t think straight if she tried.

It’s not a crisis of conscience, not really. She’s just never done this before, not in all her many visits. Her legs are shaking a little when she stands, walking to an open spot on the bar. “I’ll have another vodka tonic, and that blonde out to my car in ten minutes,” Kahlan says privately to the bartender, low voice far more confident than she felt.

He regards her blankly. “I’m not sure what you mean, miss. We don’t do that kind of business.”

She knows second-hand how this part works, here, and produces her checkbook. A signature later, she slides the small piece of paper across the bar to him. She has no idea how much this is supposed to cost and right now she doesn’t care. “Ten minutes,” she repeats, and he nods, staring at the blank check like it was a sheet of gold.

Kahlan turns to her ever-silent companion, lifting her hand to his muscled shoulder and her mouth to his ear. “Stay,” she orders softly. “Watch what he writes and he’ll keep it reasonable.”

He clears his throat in answer and steps forward, jaw bulging menacingly.

The rain has stopped when she steps outside, air muggy with the scent of it. It’s still pouring loudly from gutters, though, and tires slosh through the street as cars pass. Her driver pulls up not a minute later. She slides into the air-conditioned bliss of the lush leather interior, the door closes behind her, and she settles down to wait. She folds her blazer on the seat beside her and is tempted to take off her heels. This place is hers, nearly her second home. Tinted bulletproof glass, plenty of spare room, a muted television always tuned to the local news—all the comforts that matter.

Yet nervousness soon takes her over and she very nearly orders her driver to take her somewhere else. The raw lust that drove her to such a rash decision is quickly fading. But she never gets a chance. The door opens and a deep voice carries in. “Your escort, Miss Amnell.”

“Let her in,” she replies, after foundering a beat at the strangeness of the exchange.

The blonde slides in alone right next to Kahlan, somehow cleaned up, smelling fresh, and dressed to kill—tight top cut criminally low, denim skirt not a third of the way down her thighs, heels that look like they’re made for murder. Kahlan suddenly feels incredibly mean for only giving her ten minutes. She clears her throat, presses a button on a panel, and orders her driver to perform his namesake duty.

“There was another murder today, on the east side,” she offers casually as they roll away—the first thing that rose from her mind when queried with something to say.

“Oh? Only one?”

Kahlan smiles at the question, unfortunately fair as it is. Then she hesitates, because she is not sure how these things are supposed to proceed. From everything she’s heard she’s supposed to be put at ease, made comfortable, but this woman is not making a move. She’s sitting there like she’s just along for the ride, making Kahlan feel trapped if anything. She’s not used to feeling that way, not outside of a courtroom—and rarely there.

“You like watching me,” the blonde says abruptly, turning slightly to look at Kahlan, a slight and knowing smile on full lips. “Every Thursday for…how long?”

“Maybe Thursdays are my nights off,” Kahlan defends. She’s been noticed, but it’s not like she’s been hiding in corners.

“Maybe.”

“Six weeks, maybe two months.” Kahlan’s voice turns just a little thick. “That’s how long I’ve wanted you.”

An eyebrow raises. “And now you have me,” comes the quiet reply. Somehow, it sounds like a challenge. One Kahlan plans on rising to.

“Yes.”

“And what is it you want from me, exactly?”

Kahlan licks her lips, settles back. She doesn’t have to think very hard. “Tease me,” she says, her voice soft but strangely close to a growl, like she’s some kind of frustrated animal.

She gives Kahlan a smile, lopsided, like she understands everything about her. Then she slides off the seat in front of her.

There’s just enough room in the limo’s interior for her to make use of. Kahlan watches, eyes hungry, as the body before her begins moving to the slow rhythm of some silent song, one that she imagines they both know intimately.

Hips always in motion, the blonde gives Kahlan a slow view of all of her. Hands pass over her body, fingers tripping over seams as she turns, palms dragging at clothing and curves in a way that makes Kahlan jealous of what they’re feeling. Just like on stage, it’s not a dance, not a performance. She doesn’t know what it is, but it’s working like it always does. She looks at Kahlan, lidded green eyes under thick lashes as her thighs part suggestively, and Kahlan has to cross her arms to hide the way her hands want to grasp something, anything at all. No woman should have thighs like that, strong and toned and bronzed and so perfect Kahlan wants to worship them with her head between them, with her arms wrapped tight around them to feel the muscles tense.

It’s like she knows what Kahlan’s thinking because the denim skirt is the first thing to disappear, finally shrugged off by canting hips after being teasingly pushed and pulled, revealing silk panties a dark shade of red. Kahlan takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to sit forward.

Heels kicked off, hem of her top slowly rolled up to her breasts, she brushes against Kahlan’s legs as she raises herself up, marking the first contact between them. Kahlan is getting lost in the sight of all that naked skin, in the fresh realization of just how badly she wants to touch every inch, and she almost loses herself completely when the blonde settles right in her lap, straddling her, the warm and sudden weight catching her off guard. There’s no question Kahlan’s allowed to touch her but she still keeps her hands at her sides, even when the tiny and perpetual curve in the woman’s lips deepens into a smirk. She arches against Kahlan, palms up and spread on the roof, and rocks her hips ever so slightly over Kahlan’s thighs, like she’s testing her somehow. Kahlan’s gaze travels down from her beautiful face, passing over a full chest and taut belly to arrive at the apex of her spread and moving legs. It’s a thin silk, there, that leaves little to the imagination. Kahlan’s arousal, her need, is back like it never left at all.

Mouth lowered to her neck, a voice heavy with sex falls into her ear, sweet as honey. “You’re a powerful woman, aren’t you? People look into those eyes of yours and do whatever you want them to.”

Kahlan’s lips part as she feels a hot tongue on the crest of her ear. “It’s like they’re scared. I don’t know why.”

“I’m not scared,” the voice purrs. “If you’re so used to getting what you want, what’s stopping you now? Don’t you think about fucking me while you watch me?”

Kahlan would love to answer but her whole existence is centered around that liquid warmth in her belly, the breasts right at eye level threatening to spill from their tight confines, and words don’t offer themselves. The blonde shifts, one leg suddenly between Kahlan’s, just short of contact.

“I’ve thought about fucking you,” she continues softly, pausing to lick at the racing pulse in Kahlan’s neck. “Last week, or maybe the week before, you fucked me so hard with your eyes while I was on stage that I had to fuck myself as soon as I was alone. I only wished for a name to scream out when I came.”

“I said to tease me,” Kahlan gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “Not kill me.”

“Those piercing blue eyes of yours, that look you have that scares everyone else? Like you’re something beautiful and dangerous. It makes me wet.” Soft lips press to Kahlan’s throat; warm breath follows. “Do I ever make you wet when you watch me?”

Kahlan groans as her hands are lifted by the wrists, placed on warm sides and hips. “Sometimes,” she says, tightening her hold there, relishing the movement she feels. Then she feels heat through smooth silk as the blonde sets herself on Kahlan’s thigh, gently.

“Tonight?”

“Yes,” Kahlan says, breath coming short.

“And now?”

Like a caged lioness suddenly freed, Kahlan’s tumbling sideways, a mess of limbs and hair and bared teeth. The blonde twists with a yelp as they fall heavily to the carpeted floor, Kahlan over her like some kind of harbinger of sex. “Yes, now,” Kahlan hisses as she shifts to slip her own underthings off, tossing them aside. The woman under her settles and makes an appreciative noise low in her throat, and then it’s Kahlan’s sex set on her thigh, bare flesh to bare flesh, Kahlan licking her lips at how _good_ it feels.

It’s quick and dirty and rough and it’s not like those things are new to Kahlan, but it’s been awhile since her body has wanted anything or anyone this badly. The blonde has to brace herself against the seats with how hard their bodies are rocking together. Kahlan kisses her with teeth and tongue, conveying every illicit intention she can think of. She paws at the breasts before her, still frustratingly covered, and stops for one agonizing moment as they’re freed, shirt bunched and thrust to the side.

Kahlan lets her hips roll wildly, panting into blonde hair and hot skin as the other woman pushes up and twists, back to the seat, locking her leg for Kahlan’s use. Kahlan holds her breasts with all of her hands while she licks at her throat and neck and in turn hands clutch at her ass under her skirt, encouraging every wanton movement and then some. Kahlan’s body roars as she fucks right into her orgasm and straight through it, not stopping until she’s a shuddering mess in the blonde’s arms.

She raises herself off then, delicately, her flesh turned sensitive. She takes a seat with legs apart and adjusts her skirt to cover herself. “Tell me your name,” she says, once she’s caught her breath enough to speak. The blonde, for her part, is seemingly struck by such a request.

“Why?” she says suspiciously as she wrestles her shirt back on.

“Look at your leg and tell me you don’t owe me a name. What should I call you?”

She looks down, tilting her head at the stripe of wetness there, then nods. “Cara.”

“You were just saying all those things, Cara,” Kahlan says, daring her to claim differently. “You didn’t mean any of it.”

“Maybe,” Cara says, stretching on the floor like she just ran a mile straight, like she’s preparing to run another. “What next?”

Kahlan stares down at her, suddenly blanking out. “That’s it,” she finally says. Her hunger was gone; she could focus on perfecting her case, and that meant Cara’s job was done.

“That’s it?”

Kahlan nods.

“Do you have any idea,” Cara says incredulously, “how much you paid to do just that? I was expecting handcuffs or something in my ass, at least. I didn’t even get completely naked.”

Kahlan bristles. “It was really good sex,” she snaps. “Maybe that’s worth a lot to me, no matter how boring to you.”

Cara grimaces, suddenly looking like she’s in some sort of pain. “Sorry,” she mutters, a little petulantly. “I don’t normally do this.”

“What?”

“They normally don’t let me escort, but apparently they couldn’t say no to your offer.”

Kahlan offers a smirk all her own. “Don’t let you? Are they afraid you’ll insult all your clients?”

“Yeah,” Cara says, hopping up beside her with legs on display, leaving the scrap of denim she called a skirt all alone on the floor. “They are.”

A look out the darkened window and Kahlan realizes they’re parked in the garage tower next to her hotel—who knows how long they’ve been here. “Does that tongue of yours have other uses?” she wonders, gaze tripping down Cara’s body. Cara just looks at her and lifts a single thin eyebrow.

“Maybe,” she replies simply, and waits.

Kahlan fidgets in her seat a moment, hating how nervous she suddenly feels. This woman may be the best lay Kahlan’s ever had, but she’s also the best at making her feel strangely weak. “Come up to my suite,” Kahlan says at length, finding her strength again, “and prove it.”

Cara smiles as she tugs her skirt back on, sucking in her belly to get it buttoned. She’s closer to the door, so when she’s done slipping heels on she steps out first into the dull yellow light of the parking garage. Kahlan follows after slipping her underthings back on in turn. She slams the door closed behind her and the sound echoes like a gunshot. “Leave a window cracked,” she tells the waiting driver, sitting patiently beside her two silent bodyguards in the front seats. “I’d rather it smell like garage than sex in there.”

Kahlan gets plenty of chances to lick sweat from all over Cara’s perfect skin that night. She gives every bit as good as she gets, or tries to anyway, and Cara has no complaints for her in that regard. It’s easily the most physical lovemaking Kahlan has ever done and they end up trading bruises—Kahlan gets one in her ribs from Cara’s knee and Cara sports one on her lovely thigh, a hateful imperfection that Kahlan genuinely feels bad about. Cara assures her it was worth it since she was coming so hard she didn’t even feel it happen.

It’s not until they finish together, Cara rolling off of her to pant on her back, that Kahlan remembers she paid for this. She didn’t pick Cara up at a bar with a smile, she didn’t ask her out after meeting her somewhere innocent—it’s only thanks to her own deep pockets that this is happening at all. It ruins her pleasurable afterglow and she sits up on her bed, wrapping herself in her favorite robe and pulling her damp hair into a makeshift ponytail.

“Something wrong?” Cara says guardedly behind her.

“No,” Kahlan lies, letting her legs fall off the bedside. “It’s this case I’m working on. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Silence persists, and then Cara’s voice is almost bright, like she’s proud of a sudden idea that’s all her own. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, now you want to be an escort,” Kahlan says drily. “I suppose you’ll offer me a massage first so we can do this whole thing completely backwards.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. Why, do you want one?”

Kahlan shakes her head in reply, standing slowly and walking to the windows that line the western wall of the room, floor to ceiling. Her suite takes up nearly the entire top floor of the hotel. It’s an exercise in extravagance and definitely excess, but Aydindril National pays for it and Kahlan can’t pretend to mind. She wonders, not for the first time, what would happen if she ever lost two cases in a row. What she would lose in turn.

Her city may glow beneath her like glorious innocence, but Kahlan knows what it smells like—rotten. She also knows that she can’t smell the stink from where she lives and works, high above it all.

“What does it say on your hands?” Kahlan wonders, not a little abruptly. She noticed it out in the hallway on the way up, the first time she’d ever seen Cara in such bright light. Fingers tattooed with faded letters, one on each except her thumbs.

“Mord Sith,” Cara replies after a moment’s pause, and a glance over Kahlan’s shoulder confirms she’s watching her. She turns away from the windows to face Cara, curious because the name sounds familiar. Something from inquiries she’d done only days before.

“That’s…you’re from the east side,” Kahlan guesses, moving to take a cross legged seat back on her bed. The blonde nods as she sits up, not bothering to hide her nakedness.

“What you call the east side? People that live there call it Old D’Hara,” Cara explains. “I was born there. Joined the Mord Sith when I was a kid.” She raises her hands, idly regarding her own fingers. “Each letter is a kill for Rahl. After the eighth, you’re one of them.”

“Rahl,” Kahlan repeats sharply. The red flag raised in her mind, something about having slept with a serial murderer, is ignored completely in favor of finding out any information she can. “ _The_ Rahl?”

“Likely. I only know of one. Sneaky son of a bitch, controls most of that territory and has his talons sunk everywhere else.”

“That’s him,” Kahlan says in disbelief. “You worked for him?”

“Once upon a time. I got out a couple years ago.”

“And then you…started.”

“My new job,” the blonde supplies, clearly amused. “Choice is everything in this city.”

“Cara, I’m taking on Rahl in court. That’s my next case.”

“That’s impossible.”

“We got him on something small that he can’t claw his way out of. He’ll show up with no idea what’s about to happen. I almost have everything I need to nail him.”

Cara stares at her, and Kahlan takes a deep breath.

“I need a witness. One brave enough to testify against him and smart enough to not become the victim of some tragic and mysterious accident.”

“Fuck you,” Cara says. “I may hate Rahl, but I like my life the way it is—with me alive.”

“I can keep you safe. As far as anyone knows, all we did tonight is fuck. Keep it that way and you’ll be fine.” Kahlan’s jaw tightens. “Whatever he did to you to make you hate him, he’s still doing it to others. We can stop him, together.”

Cara laughs, a short barking sound. “Are you asking me to practice compassion?”

“Yes. Do you not have any?”

“Is that really why you do what you do? Compassion for the victims?”

Kahlan shakes her head. “It was at first,” she says softly. “We swore to clean up the city together, just me and him. He’d find them and I’d put them away. But my reasons changed and his didn’t. Now I do it for the looks on their faces.” Kahlan smiles. “There’s so much crime in this city every criminal thinks they’re safe in the crowd. Especially the dirty cops. They all think they’re invincible until the gavel strikes. And then they look at me, cowed, like they’d do anything to take it all back, like they’d do anything for me.” She blinks at her long-winded answer, but Cara looks at least a little interested. “And what about you?” she wonders. “Is it money?”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Cara says, “but I do it for the control.”

“You have a strange idea of control. Someone can buy you for a night with enough cash,” Kahlan points out. She thinks Cara won’t be offended, and she seems to be right. The blonde just shrugs.

“I can own every man that looks at me,” she says, arching her brow meaningfully at Kahlan, “and not a few of the women. As for this side of business, I’m always in control.” It’s her turn to smile now. “I didn’t tell a whole truth, earlier. A client once tried to take one too many liberties in the back room. My boss bitched about cleaning up the body for weeks.”

“Oh,” Kahlan says, impressed despite herself. She realizes the blonde’s impressive physique is probably not from fitness machines and she’s suddenly embarrassed about the couple she has in the other room. “So does this mean you’ll testify? You’ll get your control over Rahl,” she adds helpfully.

“Maybe,” Cara says, and then her voice drops to a low and familiar tone. “Are you coming to see me again next week?”

Kahlan swallows, recognizing a negotiation when she sees it. “I don’t think I can afford to,” she says quietly. “Not like this. I’m sorry.” It’s not a complete lie; she still has no idea what she paid. She wonders idly if Cara does, how badly she needs the money Kahlan’s paying her.

“I don’t want your pity,” Cara laughs. “You’re just the best fuck I’ve had in years. If it makes you feel any better I’ll pay you next time.”

Exasperation and relief and pride battle in Kahlan. “How would that possibly make me feel better?” she grumbles. “No money involved would make me feel better.”

“Fine, then. No money next time.” Cara’s eyes gleam. “There will be a next time, right? I can bring handcuffs.”

Kahlan bites her lip at the sudden tinge of arousal. “For you or me?”

Cara leans forward, mouth twisted, voice soft. “Make me come again, right now, and maybe I’ll let you cuff me first. Right to this bedpost, where you can do whatever you want with me.”

Kahlan falls to her hands and knees and crawls to her over sheets, feeling strong and helpless all at once. Cara leans back, spreads her legs obscenely wide, and Kahlan settles between them, closing her eyes as her fingers and her tongue find the exact rhythm that Cara likes.

It’s the start of something that doesn’t end until three in the morning, when Kahlan breaks away from Cara’s touch and asks for a moment’s pause, head turned away. Because in their mutual exhaustion things have changed and slowed, coming to bear a striking resemblance to the soft and gentle exploration of lovers. It’s familiar to Kahlan, that process of discovery and wonderment. She hasn’t felt it since she left him and the sharp memory hits her right in the chest, where it sits with the weight of three long years. She reminds herself that there’s a beautiful woman in her bed, but it doesn’t do any good. Kahlan doesn’t want to fuck, not anymore, and she can’t do anything else.

“We should stop,” Cara says, and Kahlan nods, still hiding her face, stoic though it is. “I should go.”

“No,” Kahlan says. “Stay and sleep. You’re tired, too.”

“Alright.”

Sheets rustle as the pair move to lay side by side. The soft glow of city lights is comforting; Kahlan can’t sleep with the blinds shut.

“How am I more broken than you?” Kahlan wonders aloud, a soft whisper into still air.

“You’re pretty good at hiding it, but I’m better,” Cara replies after a guarded pause.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s not a soul in this city that isn’t walking around in fucking pieces. Me, I watched Rahl kill the only woman I’ll ever love in cold blood. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He made an example of her. I couldn’t save her.”

“Oh. Cara.”

Her hand finds Cara’s arm under the covers and travels down its length, stopping just above the wrist. Cara doesn’t pull away so Kahlan squeezes gently. She falls asleep listening to Cara’s steady breathing and it seems like the saddest, most comforting sound in the world.

When she wakes to a blaring alarm clock, Cara is gone, chased away by bright morning sunlight like some kind of vampire, not a trace in sight. Kahlan breathes deep and there’s only the vaguest scent of her in the sheets, the rest carried away with the hushed roar of air moving through vents. And why wouldn’t she be gone? Kahlan throws back the covers, sighing at her own stupidity. She’d gone to sleep holding on to a whore, she deserved whatever hurt she got from the whole ordeal.

She fell for the act, that sense of attachment to assure return customers. There was no doubt about that. Kahlan could usually tell when people were lying but this time there hadn’t been a clue. This Cara was apparently good at her job, far more so than she let on, and Kahlan realizes she’ll have to find a new place to haunt to save herself the embarrassment of having to look her in the face. Maybe one that isn’t lit in dim red.

Still dead on her feet halfway through her morning routine, she finally notices something stuck to her door. It’s habit that has her checking her entire suite for unpleasant surprises before she approaches, but it’s simply a note from Cara.

_LET’S GET THE BASTARD._

_PS: NO $ NEXT WEEK. HANDCUFFS._

_Cara_

Kahlan sticks the note to her refrigerator door, then tosses her robe halfway across the room onto a chair before heading to her bathroom. She has to wash the sweat from her hair and she’s already going to be late for work.


End file.
